Trot Trot to Boston
by Sunshine170
Summary: Like disparate fragments of an old dream, the words keep floating in her consciousness, every time she watches them up close. And Etta watches them…a lot


_Trot, trot to Boston,_

_trot, trot to Lynn._

_Better watch out,_

_or you might fall in!_

The song plays in Etta's head every time she sees her parents. She doesn't know why or how she remembers it.

She has no recollection of ever having heard it before.

But since the day she found her father, like disparate fragments of an old dream, the words keep floating in her consciousness.

The sing song voice from her memory... her father's she's sure of it... gets louder and louder, every time she watches them up close.

And Etta watches her parents…a lot.

Staring would be a more appropriate term but she's careful about the way she goes about it, unobtrusive. She knows it's difficult to pull it off with a couple of seasoned investigators.

But she's no green horn herself with matters like this.

Part of it is the curiosity that burns inside her. She doesn't know anything about them, and yet they're her family, the two people who brought her into this world.

She's almost gotten used to the fact that physically they're only separated by a few years. That to the casual observer, her mother and her could just as easily be sisters. They do bear a striking resemblance to each other, an astonishingly striking resemblance.

It's a wonder she struggled all these years to remember their faces, when the evidence was writ all over her own. All she'd needed to do was to look at her own reflection in the mirror, to see her mother's blond hair, her nose, her father's eyes.

It's not that she hasn't seen them before, courtesy a bit of grainy black and white traffic surveillance video that she had managed to locate after hours and hours of searching through archival footage her first few days on the job as a Fringe Agent.

At a street crossing in a much cleaner, more alive Manhattan, both of them dressed in pea coats, hands in pockets, in the middle of a conversation, when she had turned sideways and shaken her head at him as they made their way across the road, her lips furrowing in a sign of disapproval, even as they were upturned in a slight grin while he wore a wide smirk on his face.

For a long time, it was all she had, forty one seconds of their life which she had watched on an endless loop, memorizing their little actions, their posture, their movements.

But the fuzzy images didn't do any justice to the real thing. It was really something else to see them in the flesh, to observe them.

Separately and together, they were mesmerizing.

They were simply put two very beautiful individuals. Even if they weren't her parents she wouldn't have missed that very obvious fact.

But more than that it was the strange magnetism they seem to be pulled together by. Like they moved in their own synchronized cadence.

She leads the way always, Etta notices, him a step behind, just a step. No more.

But their footsteps fall in tandem, as they walk with a distinct swagger, their body movements identical… confident, commanding and sure of every step they took.

Battle ready and poised, they always look out for each other, ready to protect each other. It's like the instinct were written in their very pulse.

She notices the way they tag team whenever there is someone to be questioned, or talked to, the way they play off of each other, without any prompting.

She suspects it has something to do with their working for the FBI all those years. An uncanny element of professionalism still marks their admittedly impressive interrogation techniques. She's never had the luxury of such civilities.

They literally complete each other's sentences, but just not in the romantic way. They bounce ideas off each other, where one theorizes, the other concludes, like they can read each other's thoughts.

Her mother's exceptional skills, her unshaken approach, her firm grasp on the task at hand complimented by her father's boundless knowledge, his ability to improvise, to make sense of situations.

She can't help but feel proud at the way they work together. They're very very good at they do. Even if the world has changed all around them and they don't have the same resources or authority they used to, or know much about the intricacies. They still impress her with their ability to get through just about any situation.

When they talk, she struggles to keep up, feeling like the loser in the group who didn't recognize the popular culture references the cool kids were making and felt too ashamed to clarify.

She's seen horrible things and freaky things and absurd things. She knows more about this world than they could possibly ever.

But the things they refer to are on a different level altogether, the conversations they have about the things they've done, never seemingly aware of the fact that she's listening in on every word, or bothering to pause for a second and just explain to her what the hell shape shifters were, or what this 'other side' was that they kept mentioning.

Astrid and Walter for all that they do know, never seem to be completely in the loop about everything her parents go on about, something about realigned timelines and Peter vanishing from the face of the earth, her grandfather mumbles in his half lucid way.

_"Nothing to worry yourself over dear_." He shrugs

Etta disagrees; she would very much be worried over the prospect of her father disappearing without a trace.

She's only just gotten him back and she would very much like to keep him.

She suspects her mother is of the same opinion.

They don't act like any husband and wife she's ever known. Unlike her foster parents, no trace of domesticity laces their interactions, no terms of endearment pass between them.

They treat each other like comrades rather than lovers.

At a first glance, one would have to wonder if they were even were a couple, except they are. It screams out from every fiber of their being when they're together, what they mean to each other, how much they mean to each other.

She doesn't miss those meaningful glances that pass between when they think no one's watching, the expression of aching longing her father wears, when he much like her stares at her mother from a distance.

In the times when they are afforded their scant moments of privacy, she catches them having brief snatches of hushed conversations, the ones that seem to be picked up and left off in between their mission to save the world like a record on perpetual pause and play.

They never argue. Even when they disagree, they don't argue. In gentle voices of studied understanding, that never carry any anger but a definite weight, they talk to each other, enveloped in a cloud of sadness, of regret, of something else.

She's seen the black chord around her father's neck, his wedding ring strung on it that he's careful to hide under his shirt all the time. The way he unconsciously fumbles with the thread when he's absorbed in his silent observations of his wife.

She's seen the way her mother looks at him, like he was her center of gravity.

And despite the undercurrents that seem to surface now and then, their connection is always strong, always present.

He calls her Liv at times or by her last name, she notices. He'll bring his hand to rest upon her shoulder, or touch her face, or take her hand, and give her a smile that almost makes Etta envious.

Because every gesture is special, it's meant for her and only her.

She's never known a love like that.

Never known it to be so resilient, so independent and unaffected by the myriad of issues they obviously had to work through.

She doesn't understand how it can still stand when the relationship that nested it seems to have crumbled.

She would ask… what went so wrong? But she doesn't know how to. How can she question them about their relationship, when she's so unsure about the one she shares with them?

And she already knows a lot of it has to do with her.

_Trot trot to Boston._

_Trot trot to Dover._

_Watch out baby_

_You don't fall over_

Her father is a tall man, his legs and arms never ending, as he towers over her rather petite build.

She gets many things from him. His eyes, his smile, his smart talking ways, his intellect for understanding technology.

It's been but a couple of days, but she finds herself at ease with him. Doesn't shy away from his gentle and affectionate ways even though she usually doesn't like people being affectionate towards her , his unassuming way of brushing her cheek with his fingers ever so often.

She's as tough as they come; nothing moves her nowadays.

But something inside her flutters with childlike glee every time he calls her kiddo.

It's natural and effortless; she supposes it's always been that way.

With her mother, it's not so easy. Neither of them are good at opening up to each other and there are too many things that stand in the way.

Etta thinks it has to do with how similar they are… but she's willing to work towards it as she knows her mother is, because every smile from her is a reward unto itself, her intense gaze, the way she looks at her with so many conflicting emotions.

Sometimes she shares simple moments with them, when it's just the three of them and nothing seems to weigh on their time together. No regimes to fight and painful pasts to revisit.

It feels a little bit like family.

A family where the freakiest stories are shared during breakfast when her father tells her about cases they had worked on.

"….so we're at this hotel room and guns are being shoved in our faces and bam Olivia totally goes La Femme Nikita on the whole bunch of them. She kicked a man in the face with her stiletto boot. I got in a few punches myself and then the FBI all charge in and it was chaos. But we caught Conrad Moreu and it was awesome." He says excitedly, almost with boyish enthusiasm.

"That's his retelling of it. The real thing wasn't quite so awesome." Her mother says dryly as she walks into the kitchen. "We were two seconds from being dead."

"What's La Femme Nikita?" Etta asks confusedly.

"Okay… that just makes me sad." Peter says with a frown. "Remind me to allocate some serious father daughter bonding time for pop culture education. It's very important that you know these things."

"Yeah, so that you can be the second person in the entire world who actually understands his obscure references." Her mother says, taking the coffee chew from Peter. She eyes it suspiciously before popping it into her mouth.

"This is supposed to be coffee?" She grimaces, biting down on it.

"If you close your eyes and pretend very hard, yes it is." He chuckles, as he studies the expression on her face.

"This tastes like crap." She spits it into the sink, and takes the cup of tea Etta hands her, giving her a grateful smile.

"Learn to like new things Dunham. You were the one who told me that remember."

"Very funny." She shakes her head, sipping her tea with relief.

"Etta, want to see something really cool." He asks her, pulling out a coin from his pocket. "Ok Kiddo watch this." He deftly rolls the coin on his knuckles, making it disappear and then waves his empty hands around, pulling it out from behind her ear.

"Cool huh?" He asks her with a twinkle in his eye and Etta can't help a smile at his eager question.

"Please don't lie to spare his feelings." Olivia says, rolling her eyes. "It's fairly lame and he knows that. I've told him so for years."

"Well I am not asking you am I Liv?" He says petulantly, and then he looks at her expectantly.

"It's …neat dad." Etta says as kindly as possible, making her mother smirk a little bit, as she meets her eyes.

"See…" He says in a superior tone, glancing back at her.

"Yes you're very impressive Peter." She says dryly, shaking her head helplessly in amusement, turning to Etta, somewhat apologetically. "He's actually not bad with the card tricks."

"You do card tricks too?" Etta asks cocking an eyebrow at him.

"I can do all kinds of tricks."

"Yeah, he's a veritable one man talent show. He's especially great with the disappearing act. It's his specialty. " She smiles at him.

"How do you mean?" Etta asks, once again feeling out of the loop.

"That's a story for another time." He says.

_Trot trot to Boston._

_Trot trot to Town._

_Watch out baby_

_you don't fall down!_

Her throat feels scratchy, dry, dehydrated. She swallows and sleepily reaches for the water glass next to her bedside table, and sips it only to realize it's empty.

Grumbling she gets up, stretching, doing a quick sweep of the room with her eyes as she's become accustomed to from a very young age, noting one empty mattress, right next to the one in which Astrid slept soundly.

She walks to the door, opening it slightly, freezing her tracks when she hears soft voices from the kitchen.

On pure instinct, she moves to reach for her gun, when she pauses, recognizing the voices as those of her parents.

She stays still, not knowing whether she should go in.

"No I am serious, Mako was totally into you…he was floored by your whole chick with gun and badge act." She hears her father's voice, tinged with amusement. "He asked me for your number you know."

"You gave my number to a man who runs a chop shop?" Her mother asks somewhat worriedly.

Etta crouches down and peeks through the slit in the door. She sees them sitting around the kitchen counter.

"Of course, I did not give him your number Olivia." He says obviously, handing her a cup of tea. "And I would ease off on the judgment there; considering you went on to marry a man who made it to three different Interpol watch lists." Etta can see him smirk, as he takes a sip from his own cup.

"I did, didn't I?" She smiles at him, shaking her head in an amused expression. "What's wrong with me?"

"I have been asking myself that since the day I met you." He nods knowingly. "Still haven't figured it out."

"Well let me know if you do." She shrugs, giving him a smile, as she stares at her cup. "You know... I would kill for some real coffee right now."

"Black, one sugar…I know. I must have bought you a million cups."

"One less than a million. You got me the wrong kind once."

"You're just going to hold that over me for the rest of my life aren't you?"

"Well considering that time span looks depressingly short right now, yes."

"You know Liv, you're going to think I am crazy, but I am almost nostalgic for the times when we would ride around in your car in the middle of night, to go look at slimy, disgusting corpses and deal with our monster of the week. At least we were getting paid." He says with a comical sigh.

"Well it's the middle of the night and we're sort of dealing with monsters. It's not all the different."

"Guess not."

"At least you're wearing clothes now." She points out with a slight grin.

"It's not my fault if you showed up my hotel room at 2:00 in the morning. A guy's allowed to be in his boxers at that hour. And if I recall, you didn't seem to have that much of a problem with me not having clothes on." He says cheekily.

Etta thinks she should disengage from this conversation, like right now. But she can't help herself.

Seeing them, just the two of them, talking to each other…it makes her heart warm and tingly.

"That was much later on…"

"Same difference."

"I beg to differ." She frowns at him.

"And there's that look of disapproval. Yup… just like old times Dunham. Except I get to carry a gun now."

"Well at least Walter's not giving us inappropriate advice on safe sex and failure rates of condoms all the time." Her mother laughs.

"To be fair to the man, he was right and we didn't really listen to his advice. We wouldn't have gone and made a baby when the fate of two worlds was hanging by a thread, if we had." He chuckles. "Thank god for that."

"Yeah… thank god for that." Her face lights up in a smile and then turns contemplative. "Does it ever seem to you, that anytime we get too happy with each other, somebody tries to destroy a universe…or two?"

"Yeah, go figure huh. You think those two things are related?" He rolls his eyes at her.

"After four times, I am inclined to think there's something to that theory after all." She shrugs, taking a long sip from her cup.

"Hey, here's an idea…" Her dad says then, a sad smile on his face. "If this works and we actually live to see it work… and we somehow reboot to a time when these bald headed bastards didn't infest our world, let's just make a pact and stay away from each other. Because we really have the worst luck with romance. Every time we get together, the fabric of the universe comes shredding apart. And we should really learn our lesson by now, don't you think?"

Etta inhales sharply at the way he says it. His tone is light, but she doesn't miss the underlying fatalism that belies it.

She sees her mother nod slowly. "Sounds reasonable. What sort of pact should we make?"

"Well its simple enough…" He shrugs. "You have to promise not to fall in love with me."

"That's easy." Her mother shakes her head at him. "And after that…"

"And after that Agent Dunham, a tall handsome man who is not Peter Bishop will walk into your life and make all your wildest dreams come true, confess his undying love for you, give you the biggest diamond ring on the planet and ask you to marry him and you will live happily ever after with him in a mansion with a bunch of shiny looking kids." He puts his arms behind his head and looks at her.

"And what will Peter Bishop do?"

"Peter Bishop will stay back in Iraq, finish scamming his two gullible marks and then later go on a date with a very hot Persian model he was supposed to meet for drinks the night a feisty FBI agent barged into his life and totally ruined his plans for the evening."

"You never told me you had a date that night?" She cocks at an eyebrow at him. "Pity, I can totally picture you with a model."

"I know right? I've actually dated a model before. Did I ever tell you that? In Paris. Her name was Céline; she used to walk the ramp for all these couture labels. Really beautiful girl."

"No I must have missed that one. What were you doing in Paris?" She asks curiously.

"I was an assistant to a fashion photographer."

"Seriously? Fashion photography Peter?"

"Yeah, it was a great gig. He used to shoot a lot of lingerie ads and throw the most outrageous parties. It was a total blast." He smirks.

"You had quite the life before all of this." She sighs looking at him with an almost guilty expression. "I really messed it up for you didn't I?"

"Is that what you think Liv?" He asks her softly, a studied expression on his face.

"Well you have to admit… Lingerie shoots and ramp walk models don't compare to staying up all night with a crying baby who spit up all over your shirt." She shrugs.

"You're absolutely right." He nods. "There's no comparison between the two. Because lingerie shoots never even came close to making me as happy as taking care of Etta did. Do you remember those first couple of weeks after we brought her home… we must have turned into zombies from exhaustion. I think I literally lost all sense of time… "

"Yeah, I found you asleep on the bathroom counter once with your tooth brush still in your mouth." She laughs. "God Peter, we were so clueless about everything and we had to take care of this tiny human being who was completely dependent on us. I don't think I was ever so scared in my entire life."

"I don't think I was either. Those were the best times though weren't they?" He says, his face shining with happiness.

"Absolutely." She nods and the sighs, her face turning almost pained. "So, going back to the subject. I get tall handsome stranger, you get supermodel and we're both happy?"

"Yup." He brings his hands to rest on the back of his head. "No drama, no angst, no inter-universe conflicts messing up our love lives. It'll be spectacularly perfect."

"Well I do like perfect. How can I argue against perfect?" She shrugs.

"How can you? So we have a deal then?"

"Yes, I promise if we go back in time, I won't come to Iraq looking for you and I won't ruin your date and under no circumstances will I fall in love with you." She says with mock seriousness, a smile on her lips.

"Good…and since I know you to be a woman of your word, we'll go about our lives just as we did before we knew each other. You catch the bad guys; I am one of the bad guys. All is well with the world again." Her father says dramatically.

"Sounds like a plan and I am totally on board with it …except for one caveat."

"Which is?"

"If we stayed away from each other, your precious daughter… the one that you love more than all the bacon and pecan pie in the world, will never come to be."

"Hmm that is a conundrum. We definitely can't have that. Well maybe we should do it once after all…" His voice is flippant.

"You think?" She raises an eyebrow at him in question

"Or you know how many ever times it takes to get the deed done."

"You make it sound it so romantic." She says sardonically.

"Well it's not supposed to be romantic. It's about sticking to the plan. "

"Right the supermodel… You just have it all figured out don't you?"

"Ever since I realized that our relationship has been placed with the most relentless jinx known to mankind…. Seriously, Liv the two of us cannot catch a break if it kills us."

"It did kill us…maybe more than once. I can't be sure."

"And then there's that. It's like we're just hazardous to each other's life spans. It's ridiculous. And all this for what. All we seem to do is make each other miserable in alternate cycles."

"That wouldn't be completely inaccurate."

"So… it's settled. Should we shake on it?" He asks, getting up and placing his empty cup on the counter.

"We could." She extends her hand towards his, clasping it gently, a smile on her face. "What time is it? Is it midnight?" She asks then.

He glances at his watch. "About two minutes past."

"Good. I can wish you happy birthday then." She steps closer to him, and Etta can see the look of surprise on his face.

"What? Wait… it's…oh yeah it is…You remembered?" He asks incredulously.

"You didn't think I'd forget did you?"

"With your head for numbers, not really. It's just with everything going on…"

"It's still your birthday and I've already missed the twenty one that came before." She says quietly, but with determination, placing her hands on his chest. "Now I don't have a cake or even a candle for you, but close your eyes and go ahead and make a wish anyway."

"What could I wish for Liv? I already have everything I want." He takes his hand on hers, grasping it loosely.

"Well, in that case let me make one for you." She gently runs her palm over his eyes, prompting him to close them, and then tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips.

"I wish…you get to go on your date with that model." She places her hands on his cheek, as he opens his eyes to look at her, his face writ with a myriad of conflicting emotions

"Thanks, that's very kind of you." He nods laughing, leaning into her touch.

"What kind of wife would I be now, if I didn't support your hopes and dreams." She shrugs, and he simply pulls her into an embrace at that, swooping in for a much longer, deeper kiss.

And Etta really has to look away at this point.

"The best kind anyone could possibly ask for." She hears him say when they break apart, bringing his forehead to rest upon hers.

"You should get some rest you know." She says, breaking away, almost reluctantly. "We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

"Yeah, someone's gotta save the world right?" He says swallowing audibly, trying to obviously gain control of his emotions.

"Good night Peter…"

"Night Liv." Etta hears him almost whisper, and she quickly moves away from the door, almost diving back into her bed, as she hears her mother's soft footsteps grow closer.

She remembers a conversation she had had with her dad a couple of days ago when she was helping him repair Walter's station wagon. Giving into her curiosity she had asked him about his seemingly paradoxical relationship his wife

* * *

_"Are you guys doing fine?" _

_"Hmm?"_

_"You and mom." She had clarified, registering the look on his face. _

_"That… would depend on your definition of fine." He had said, his head bent down in the hood of the car, voice distracted. "No marriage is perfect. Ours is far from…"_

_"You don't seem very concerned about it." She had said neutrally. _

_ He had looked up then, meeting her gaze squarely, an odd smile on his face. "That's because I am not…I mean I am concerned, but I also know we'll fix it eventually. I am very used to cataclysmic life altering events doing a number on our relationship." He had joked._

_She had given him a quizzical look. _

_ " Your mom and I...We love getting in the way of our happiness as much as possible. That and saving universes…god knows we love doing that." He had chuckled, as he turned his attention back to the engine._

_ "So you're saying you're fine?" She had asked him again, far from convinced. _

_"I am saying we will be. It's a very Peter and Olivia thing, you'll understand someday kiddo."_

* * *

Etta understands… as she watches through the crack of her eyelid, her mother settle into her mattress and pulling up her blanket, turning to her side, the widest smile on her face as she closes her eyes, lost to sleep within a few minutes.

She understands for the first time...

There is not much left in this world to place her belief in.

But she's willing to believe in this… in them.


End file.
